


With a Stroke of the Quill

by gray_autumn_sky



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fix-it fic for 5x21–after watching Regina grieve, Henry decides to change her story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Stroke of the Quill

The rules of magic have always been a mystery to him.

There was a time when he’d feared magic—a time when he didn’t know much about its capabilities, a time when he didn’t understand it enough to know that it could be used for good. Back then, he only knew about the prices of magic, and that those prices were often too steep to pay. But little by little he saw it used in different ways and little by little he came to accept magic as a part of his world, until one day it seemed commonplace. And then, he’d been envious of it.

When he’d become the next Author, it was important to him. He felt like he finally had a place in his family, a role he could play and a chance to be a real hero. But the amount of power the pen yielded was frightening and he’d decided that it was too much power for one person to hold; yet, as time passed and he learned the conditions of the Author’s Quill, suddenly the power he possessed seemed so limited. There were too many rules, too many conditions, too many things he couldn’t do, and once more he found himself feeling powerless.

He couldn’t change their stories. He could only record them—that is what the Apprentice had told him—and that was what he believed.

Yet he’d seen the rules of magic bent time and time again—and it made him wonder why the existed in the first place.

He’d been sitting at the wake at Granny’s—watching as Roland climbed into the booth with Regina, cuddling into her side as tears streaked down his cheeks. He’d watched as the little boy clutched to her and the way her arms folded around him, knowing exactly just how comforting his mother’s hugs could be and hoping they could offer some solace to one another.

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it that day, but as he watched them, he couldn’t help but think that none of this was fair.

And then he’d overheard Little John telling Granny that the following day he and the Merry Men would be taking Roland home—home meaning back to the Enchanted Forest, away from Storybrooke. He seemed relieved to begoing, but there was a guilty look in his eye as he glanced back toward Roland—because going home meant taking the boy away from Regina, who was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known. And it was yet another loss for them all. Henry had watched as his mother’s chin lifted toward Little John and her teary eyes darkened as she pulled Roland closer—and again, Henry found himself thinking that none of this should be happening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

For awhile, he sat with them; and he felt so helpless.

Everyone at the wake seemed to approach the table, offering their condolences and trying to say soothing things; yet none of it really mattered and none of it could make anything better. He watched, though, as his mother nodded her appreciation, murmuring things like _thank you_ and _that means a lot_ —but she wasn’t thankful and it meant nothing. Simply words, he was realizing, meant nothing.

When they’d gone home, Roland came with them—and for a few hours, they tried to be something like a family just one last time. But there was something missing—someone missing. It was odd to him, how in just a few months so much had changed. It wasn’t very long ago when it had just been the two of them; yet, when he returned from New York and she’d returned from the Enchanted Forest, Robin and Roland became a part of their lives. And they’d fit so easily, so effortlessly that it seemed like it was meant to be. There hadn’t been very many chances for the four of them to be a family—there was always some magical, threatening force keeping them all apart—but in those rare times that they had together, they’d been happy. For a time, their story seemed to have a happy ending.

Roland requested a bedtime story and instead of choosing something easy like _Goodnight Moon_ or _Where the Wild Things Are_ , Regina had plucked the Storybook from the shelf and slowly read through a story about the thief with a heart of gold. Henry had watched as she improvised, adding in the details that were missing—details only someone who knew and loved Robin Hood would have known.  And that’s when it occurred to him that the stories didn’t match—the Author who’d recorded Robin’s story didn’t know all of it, or perhaps had been selective in what he shared.

He stayed up long after they’d fallen asleep, sitting at his desk and thumbing through the pages and thinking about the rules of his quill. He pulled the infamous extra Page 23 from the book and compared it to the one that was sewn into the binding. The stories they told were so very different and he’d never fully understood the explanation that had been provided for why the two stories existed—it just didn’t make sense to him.

Yet, there was so little about being the Author and the purpose of the quill that made sense to him.

Again, he held up the page and examined it closely—looking at the illustration of his mother, looking so young and full of hope as her love leaned in for a kiss. And he couldn’t help but notice how happy and relieved she looked. It was such a contrast from the way she looked in so many of the other stories, such a contrast to the way she looked now.

Taking a long breath, Henry reaches for the quill, looking at it as it rests between his fingers just above the extra page. The previous Author once told them that there were different versions of this story, that it was just the more interesting one had made it into the book—but he never said that it was the real story. It was simply the one that got recorded, the one that lived on and the one that became a part of his mother’s all too tragic story.

The storybook had once been about hope for him; but now, all of that seemed tainted by the uncertainty of subjectivity. For him, the people in these stories weren’t just characters. They were real people, people he loved. It was his job to record their stories and his job to ensure they lived on in the storybook, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it could also be a part of his job to use his own magical power for something more meaningful. He’d long known about the price of magic, but he also knew about the price of doing nothing. While magic offered no guarantees, the last few years had taught him that, at the very least, magic offered a chance.

Opening the blank storybook, he takes another shorter breath and begins to write.

He records the story as he knows it—explaining how Robin and his mother had been on a mission to save Robin’s infant daughter, how Hades had intervened and threatened them, how Robin had jumped in front of her and sacrificed himself. He writes down what Hades had said about it—how Robin’s soul would be obliterated and he would never find peace—and he wrote about Zelena killing Hades to avenge Robin’s death. He writes about the funeral—detailing his mother’s pain, explaining about the gold-tipped arrows that were laid on the coffin, and how Robin died a true hero’s death.

Taking a breath, he looks at the words and watches and the ink dries on the paper. And then he adds, ‘ _But_ _there was something Hades didn’t understand.’_ to the end of the story.

Again, he watches and the ink dries and the addition becomes a part of the story. A small smile stretches across his lips—the first he’s smiled in days—as he dabs the quill back into the ink and continues to write, finally feeling as though he can do something purposeful, rules be damned.

____

She knows that its morning, but she’s not yet ready to wake and face the day. She can feel the warm sun pouring over her and she can hear birds chirping distantly from the free outside the window; but her eyes are still sore from crying and her lungs still feel deflated. Her limbs are aching and there is still a piercing in the center of her chest, and she’s just not ready for a new day to start. It seems too unfair that once again, life is ready to go on before she is.

And then she feels it.

There’s a hand on her knee, fingertips pressing gently against the blanket that covers her. The palm covers her knee completely and the fingers rub soft circles against the fabric—the touch is gentle and tender, soothing as if to wake her slowly. She presses her eyes closed and swallows as another hand brushes against her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear and caressing over her cheek. And it feels so very familiar.

“Regina….”

Her breath catches and her eyelids press tighter—it’s a dream, she decides. It has to be.

“Regina, love?”

She feels her heart clench at the sound of his voice saying her name—so strong and unshaken, so real. She can’t stop the warm tears well behind her closed eyes as she feels his presence beside her. He leans in and presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, offering a fluttering kiss as his hand slides into her hair. She can almost feel him smiling.

“Regina,” he says again.

This time, her eyes open and for a moment, she doesn’t believe what she sees. She doesn’t believe that he’s sitting there beside her, blue eyes shining with love and life as he gently rouses her from her sleep. She doesn’t believe that he’s really there—it still must be part of the dream, she thinks as she takes him in. But her tears begin to fall and suddenly, he’s brushing them away and kissing them away, telling her that he’s there and that he loves her and that he’s real and won’t leave her again.

And she starts to believe him.

“How?” She asks, breathing out in a husky voice, as her forehead presses into his and her fingers link around the back of his head, cradling him close and afraid to let go. “How is it possible that you’re here?”

“It’s…rather complicated,” he muses, laughing softly as he tries to pull back and finds himself unable to separate.

“But I watched you die,” she whispers, tears falling freely as she clings to him. “How is it possible that you’re here with me now?”

She feels him drop a kiss onto her jaw and then another onto her neck, and he pulls her closer in a tight embrace. “You did.  And…I did die.” His lips trail to her shoulder and his hand rub gently over her back in an effort to soothe her, in an effort to reassure her and make her believe. “But Hades failed to tell us a few very important details…”

Pulling back slightly, she blinks back her tears. “According to the story,” he begins as he reaches for the storybook, “Hades didn’t quite understand what happens to the soul of someone who dies for their soul mate.” A grin stretches over his lips and his hold on her loosens. “Your soul became a part of mine and to destroy my soul, he would have had to destroy the both of us.” Swallowing hard, her eyes fall to the open storybook and a story she’s never seen before. “Or so that’s what our story now says.”

“He changed the ending,” she whispers as she takes in the page. “Henry changed our story.”

“Yes,” Robin says with a nod. “It appears I may not have had a plan to get us out of this one, but your son did.”

“He wrote us a happy ending,” she murmurs quietly, slowly letting her eyes turn up to meet his, unable to stop the tentative smile that stretches over her lips as the reality of it begins to set in. “But he’s not supposed to be able to bring back…”

“Let’s not question it, hmm?” Robin interjects, his own smile broadening. “Let’s just…enjoy this.”

And then he kisses her—his lips capturing hers, gently sucking at her bottom lip until her lips part and allow his tongue to slide against hers. He shifts closer and his fingers slip to the back of her neck, drawing her deeper into it. Still, she holds her breath—hesitating for a moment as her heart flutters and a rush of emotion overwhelms her. Smiling against his mouth, she leans in closer and finally, kisses him back determined not to waste a single moment of their _second_ second chance—hopeful that maybe this time, the universe would be on their side.


End file.
